


Sanctions

by Lisafer



Series: Cavall's Heart [3]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Cavall's Heart, F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:38:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen and Margarry see each other for the last time before his Ordeal, when he’s en route to Corus. And she has something to discuss with her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctions

She was asleep on the long bench under the high windows in the great room. Her dark blonde curls and pale yellow gown stood out against the mahogany-paneled walls. She rested on her side, and clutched a book and a letter in one hand, pressed to her breast. It was one of the letters Owen had sent from Fort Mastiff. 

He crouched down beside her, brushing the curls back from her face. “I’m back,” he whispered, studying her face. She had grown – filled out – in his absence. Her chin was still pointed and dainty, but her mouth no longer seemed too wide. Her hair and eyebrows were darker – maybe she would eventually have her father’s brown hair. He wished she were awake; he wondered if her familiar brown eyes were still so large, or if she had grown into them, as well.

Her wrists were still slender, her form delicate, but she didn’t seem as breakable to him as she was when they had first met. He reached out and caressed her cheek. She still smelled of fresh-cut flowers. He sat down on the floor next to her and kissed her gently. 

She blinked sleepily. “I dreamt that you came home, and I woke to find you here,” she murmured. 

“I dreamed the same thing almost every night I was gone,” he confessed. “I missed you so much, Daisy.”

She smiled and pushed herself into an upright position. “I’ve missed you, too. I feel like…”

He nodded, prodding her to continue, as he shifted to his knees so he could remain closer to her eye level.

She flushed, gazing down at him. “I feel like you were one of the strong wind storms that blows through the fief, putting everything out of sorts. After the storm passes, you realize that your life from that point on will be relegated to before and after that singular event.”

He pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. They explored each other’s mouths, teasing one another with their lips and tongues; her hands ran through Owen’s hair and his fingers traced circular patterns on the back and sides of her neck.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, tracing the scar along his cheek. 

“It wasn’t bad,” he assured her. “Neal offered to heal me, but I wasn’t sure if it was worth spending his Gift on.” He grinned. “Plus I thought my face would be more distinguished with a battle scar.”

“It is,” she laughed, dropping a light kiss on his lips. “Will you have to go back to the front?” 

“Unfortunately. But first is my Ordeal of Knighthood in Corus. I’ll have to leave soon with Lord Wyldon.”

“But Midwinter is almost two months away!” she cried, dismay written on her face. 

“There are a lot of things my lord has to do in the city – and I have to have time to properly outfit myself. Everything I have belongs to Cavall, after all.”

She smiled wistfully. “I haven’t seen you in so long and you have to immediately turn around.”

He rose to his feet and pulled her with him, delighted that even with her recent growth she was a head shorter than him. “We have at least three days, though, to catch up with one another before I have to head to the capital.” He kissed her forehead sweetly. “It’s time for supper, though, so we should probably head down to the dining room.” 

 

Dinner had been a joyous affair; the kitchen staff prepared the meal with care, adding Lord Wyldon’s preferred side dishes to the venison that had been planned. There was more conversation, casual chatter that had rarely been so lively since all four Cavall girls had lived under the same roof. Even Wyldon himself was more talkative.

Margarry wondered if Squire Owen has as much influence on his knight-master as her father had on his squire. They both seemed to have grown in their years together – there was still a formality between them, especially on her father’s part. But they were more casual than they had been three years before. And Owen had more self-confidence than she had never seen in him before.

After dinner her father retreated to his study. Owen left for the library and Vivenne went to the stables. Margarry opted to go to her father; there were things on her mind that needed to be addressed with him. 

“Father,” she began, knocking lightly on the open door.

He gestured for her to take a seat. She loved how he always looked so serious and hard-working. His brown eyes were calm and penetrating, and he usually wore a relatively severe expression until induced otherwise.

She took her seat by his desk and met his eyes squarely. “I would like to travel to Corus for Midwinter.”

“I think that is reasonable. I suspect that you feel as though you’ve been cooped up here far too long – and I know that you and Owen have been exchanging letters for a good deal of time. You’re invested in the outcome of his Ordeal, no doubt.”

“Can I travel with you when you leave?”

“Absolutely not.” His voice was firm. “This is the most important time in Owen’s training; I can’t have it compromised with any sort of distraction. And I can’t have our progress slowed. If the roads remain clear of snow, you can travel with your mother in December, when she’s ready to leave the fief.”

“But she won’t want to leave until the last minute!” Margarry cried. “The new foal won’t be weaned for another six weeks, and the passes will be completely snowed over by then.”

Wyldon sighed. “I _can’t_ make concessions, Margarry. Even for you. Owen has less than two months before his Ordeal – I have to devote all my time to him, and not to a reckless young girl who’s looking for an adventure. Young men have _died_ in the Chamber because they were not capable of handling it.”

Margarry was quiet for a moment, digesting her father’s words. “Is it frightening?” she asked after a long pause.

“Terrifying.” His expression was far away, as though remembering past horrors. When he addressed her again he was even more somber. “I can’t tell you about my Ordeal, but I can tell you what I’ve told all of the boys – and girl – I’ve trained.

“Imagine that every squire is a piece of rock, with glimmers of a precious gem within. The Chamber is the gem cutter. We place the rock inside so the Chamber can work it into the glittering jewel he or she is to become. Gem cutters are not gentle with their stones – force is necessary to cut a diamond. The Chamber cuts every aspect of a squire – it seeks out the imperfections and makes him or her face each one. It shows no mercy. When Owen goes into that room, he will be reliving his nightmares, and only the strength of his heart and mind will help him.”

Margarry gulped. “He can’t die, Father.”

Wyldon took her hand and caressed it. “I don’t think he will. He charges into every challenge with unmatched ferocity. I can’t imagine he’ll face the Ordeal any differently. But he’s a young man who seems to have no fear. He’s seen more atrocities than I would ever wish a seasoned soldier to witness, let alone a squire. I fear for what horrors he will actually meet in the Chamber.”

She was silent, trying to imagined what she would face if she were to go through the Ordeal. 

“I want to marry him,” she said very softly.

Wyldon’s mouth turned down slightly, and he seemed to mull over something before speaking. “You’re still very young. You might yet meet some other man who catches your fancy.”

“I don’t want another man,” Margarry insisted. “I want _him_.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully. “And have you considered that he might not want you?”

She swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. “Has he indicated that he doesn’t?”

“Has he indicated that he loves you?”

She shook her head. “Not in words,” she answered, “but in actions.”

Wyldon raised his eyebrows.

“Nothing unseemly, Father,” Margarry blushed. “I meant in the kindness of his actions, in the way he speaks to me.”

“Perhaps you should not be so determined,” said Wyldon slowly. “You both have so many years ahead of you – wait until you have gotten to spend more time together. Get to know one another better, perhaps.”

Margarry was growing cross. “You’re hardly one to speak of waiting and getting to know one another. You barely knew Mother’s name before you were promised to one another.”

Wyldon’s lips pressed together and his voice was terse when he asked, “do you know why I agreed to marry your mother?”

“Because it was your duty.”

“No, that made the decision possible.” Wyldon locked eyes with Margarry. “I will tell you what only your mother knows.

“When I was young, I thought myself completely in love with a lady at court in Corus. I thought everything in life revolved around her. I was not the one who won her, though. She married another man who was probably better suited to her. They went on to have a blissful life with plenty of children and all the happiness they deserved.

“At the time, though,” he continued, fingering the scar at his temple, “I was crushed and certain I could never care for anyone as I cared for her. When the king made the suggestion of a marriage to help secure the peace in the river valley, I accepted because I didn’t think there was much left for me in the way of romance.”

He paused, taking a sip of cider. “When I married your mother, I learned that all those feelings I’d had before were pale in comparison to the reality of love.”

Margarry had no response. She had known her parents’ marriage had begun with little to no semblance of affection, but it was another thing altogether to imagine her father in love with someone else.

“You do understand my concern, daughter?” he asked gently. “I don’t want you to realize at twenty-five your error in judgment at eighteen.”

Margarry stood, ready to go back to her quarters. “Father, you do think Owen is a good person, don’t you?”

Wyldon nodded. “I think he could become one of the best people I’ve ever met. I don’t think you are necessarily unwise in your choice – but I would like you to not rush into things.”

“I understand, Da,” she said. “And I will wait however long it takes. But during that time,” she continued, her eyes fierce and her mouth set, “I would like you to think about all the things you considered when approving of Eirayls’s and Sunarine’s husbands. Owen is the son of a wealthy fief, and he is a person who will be kind to his love and treat her with respect. He would cherish and protect his future wife and children with everything he has.”

Wyldon smiled wryly. “I will consider it. Now please leave me so I can think about it, as well as some more pressing issues.” He rose to his feet and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you, Da.” Margarry threw her arms around his waist.

 

Two days later, Lady Vivenne found herself alone with her husband’s squire. They were in the stable, and he was giving an apple to his new warhorse.

“Did you pick him out, or did my lord choose him for you?” she asked, pulling clumps of sugar from her pocket to give to the others.

“I did,” Owen answered. “My Lady,” he added, wincing.

“I’m not as demanding as ‘the Stump’,” she teased. Owen ducked his head, flushing slightly. She met his eyes and whispered, with a conspiratorial grin, “I think the name suits him. He can be so stiff and formal when he’s not with the family; I can only imagine what he is like with the pages.” 

Owen looked visibly relieved.

“You have a good eye,” she continued. Owen had picked her favorite gelding, a young dark brown gelding. He was large and strong, with quick reflexes. 

Vivenne made her way down the row of stalls, patting each horse and studying them with a quick – but expert – glance. “Your eye is certainly as good as Wyldon’s. Of all the Tortallans I’ve ever met, he was the one with the most horse-sense.”

“What about the Wildmage?” Owen asked incredulously.

“She’s not Tortallan.”

“True.”

“Wyl once spoke of a groom at the palace who was Tortallan and absolutely gifted with horses. I wonder if he’s really from Tortall.” Vivenne crossed to Bastian, Owen’s new mount, and nuzzled him, bringing their noses together.

“Do you think that poorly of Tortall, my lady?”

“It’s not that,” she answered. “The great horse lords are in Sarain, where they once worshiped horse-related gods. The further west you travel the less horse sense the average person has. I was raised in Tusaine, which is only a little better off than Tortall, but my grandmother was a Marenite.

“Here in Tortall I am commended for my riding skills, but my mother chastised me for being nothing like our matriarchs. If you have ever watched the queen and her Riders, you will understand what I mean. She is gifted in the saddle, and has shared lessons with her Riders.”

Owen studied her with interest. “I’ve never heard you say nice things about the queen before.”

Vivenne stiffened slightly. “There are many things I disagree with when it comes to the queen. But I give credit where it is due – and there is nothing quite so stunning as when the queen is riding.”

“I would have to agree,” Owen said, grinning.

“Bastian should be a good horse for the way you ride,” she said, remembering why she had struck up the conversation in the first place. “He should serve you well. He’s from a strong line, and I can speak for his mother’s and father’s breeding, as I saw to both.”

“Did you breed Happy, too?” Owen asked.

She nodded. “He was a beautiful creature.”

“I’m sorry I lost him,” said Owen, frowning. 

Vivenne took his hand and squeezed it. “The fact that you feel remorse still after all these months shows me that you care more for your mount than some. And for that, I am willing to share any horse from my stable.”

“I do appreciate that,” Owen said, seriously. “I know we’ve had bad moments, Lady Vivenne, but I _am_ very thankful that you’ve been so kind to me and made me feel welcome.”

“You’ve made the house a livelier place,” she answered. 

“And you’ve shown me that there’s more to Lord Wyldon than he displays to those he trains. He’s a completely different person when he’s with his family.” 

“Much less Stump-ish,” she agreed, laughing. 

 

“We should have been on the road three hours ago,” Wyldon called to his squire, a tinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. “What’s taking so long?”

Owen stumbled out to the courtyard, his arms full of supplies. “I was trained to know that explanations are excuses, my lord, and you don’t want to hear them,” he called in a sing-song voice. He began to arrange the bundles on the pack horse. 

Margarry started to walk over to him, but Wyldon blocked her with his arm. “Do not distract him or it will take another hour before we leave.”

“I’d like to bring him back this way, assuming he passes the Ordeal,” Wyldon explained to his wife, when she pulled him aside to discuss matters of the fief.

She glanced at her daughter before meeting Wyldon’s eyes. “I’m certain he’ll be back,” she said. “If you value your daughter’s happiness, you’ll speak to Owen.”

Wyldon sighed. “And what if he doesn’t want to be married?”

She rolled her eyes. “Wyl, they’ve been writing to each other. Have you ever known a squire to be diligent in his correspondence during a time of war if he’s not interested in a relationship?”

He sighed again. “I’ll speak to him. At some point.” 

“Perhaps once he’s had his Ordeal?” Vivenne asked. “Margarry and I intend to travel to Corus for the Midwinter. We will stay with Eiralys, in the city. She would like to host a party for Margarry – I think she has matchmaking in mind, to be perfectly honest. I would like to discourage that, if there is a match already being planned.”

Wyldon smiled. “Am I the only one who has realized that your daughters are like you? Once an idea is made up, especially in matters of the heart – no outside force will change their minds. Whether it’s to make a match or to avoid one.”

“And what of you, sir?” she asked tartly. “Could we not say the same of you?”

“You changed my mind once,” he said with a tender expression. He took her hand in his, caressing it with his thumb.

“But you’re as stubborn as Margarry is willful,” Vivenne replied. “If you oppose this match, as I suspect you might, it will bring me an ungodly number of headaches.”

“So I should give my daughter away in order to keep you content?”

Vivenne yanked her hand away. “No,” she snapped. “You should recognize that our daughter is in love and do what you can to accommodate. If you think the boy isn’t worthy, you do what you can in your power to _make_ him the ideal man.”

“And that is that?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes flashing.

“Yes, Wyldon,” she answered, her voice icy. “I think Owen is a good match for Margarry, even if you’re too stubborn to see it. I think they are both young, certainly, but a long engagement can resolve that issue.”

Wyldon rested his eyes on his squire, who was diligently packing the saddle bags and speaking to the servants who assisted. Occasionally he would glance at Margarry and they would exchange quick smiles.

And the girl had listened. Rather than attempting to work with Owen or chatter at him incessantly as she was wont to do, she hung back with the servants – occasionally helping them carry things over, but never exchanging a word.

“I’ll speak to him,” Wyldon assured his wife. Tension left her shoulders, and her annoyance with him subsided as quickly as it had risen. He kissed her swiftly and crossed the courtyard to help his squire.

 

Margarry twirled a feather in her hand, lost in thought. She was sprawled across her bed, skirts in disarray, humming a Tusaini ballad. Part of her wanted to hop on a horse and take off after Owen and her father; the other part of her wanted to sob until she fell asleep. Neither were options, as far as she was concerned. So instead she mentally reviewed every letter she had memorized from her months of correspondence with Owen.

“Do you intend to waste away until he comes back?” Vivenne asked from the doorway.

“Come in,” Margarry invited, her voice a monotone. She sat up and scooted into the corner, making room for her mother on the bed.

“He’ll be back after his Ordeal, I’m sure.” Vivenne said. “Your father promised to stop before heading back to Fort Mastiff.”

“He’ll be on his way to Scanra, where he could be hacked to bits.”

“That’s a reality you might have to face if you intend to fall in love with a knight,” Vivenne replied with a shrug. “And you must remind yourself of all the occasions in which he wasn’t hurt, and thank Mithros and the Goddess for every moment you’re granted with him.”

“What if he doesn’t become a knight?”she asked, her voice timid.

Her mother encircled her arms around her. “Do you think he’s endured seven years with your father only to be bested by his own fears?”

“No,” Margarry answered. She knew some of Owen’s greatest fears and worst memories. In all the letters they’d shared they had bared their souls to one another. She knew what the Chamber of the Ordeal could be slinging at him, and she also knew the emotional reserves he could tap into in order to combat it.

“Da told you about my request, I assume?” she asked her mother after several minutes of silence.

“Indeed.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think I should have been reading your correspondence,” Vivenne teased. She continued on, more seriously, when Margarry didn’t react. “I never thought you the kind of girl who would fall for someone you rarely saw. You’ve always been such a lively girl that I had worried more about you eloping with a stable-hand than developing a sincere attachment through letter-writing.”

“I liked him from the moment I first met him.”

“I know. I had believed it was a minor infatuation. Your sisters fancied themselves in love at sixteen but had changed their minds later.”

“You didn’t, though.”

Vivenne smiled. “No, I didn’t. And I was reminded earlier today that you are very much like me.”

“But what do you think of him?” Margarry asked. The first time Owen had been to Fief Cavall he and Lady Vivenne has not gotten on very well.

“I think he could make any woman an excellent husband, in a few years’ time. I worry, I’ll admit. You are often reckless and impulsive, and I see those same traits in him. But those traits can be toned down over time.

“The greater question would be to ask what _you_ think of him.”

Margarry paused, thinking before answering. “I know it sounds ridiculous, since we’ve not spent even half of a year in each other’s presence, but I feel like I know him as well as I know myself. We’ve bonded over the books we love and we’ve discussed everything from our dreams to our political ideals. And seeing him in person… I felt like he had always been there. Is that absurd, Mother?”

“That sounds like love to me,” Vivenne answered. “Your father and I experienced time apart during our courtship – if you could even call it that. My mother would not allow me to marry as soon as I wanted to, so your father and I wrote to each other, and I spent time with his family. I learned everything I could about him – everything he said, everything he _didn’t_ say. And after we were married we spent three days traveling from Corus to Cavall, simply talking to one another. And the whole time I marveled because I felt like I had always known him.”

Vivenne rose to her feet, pulling Margarry with her. “Being in love is a fair wondrous thing, but I’m not going to let you wither away into nothingness in his absence. Being the wife of a knight means that you may go months without seeing your husband. Sometimes more.

“But I do know something that will cheer you. I’ve sent word to Eiralys that we will be arriving in Corus in twenty days. You will be there for Squire Owen’s Ordeal of Knighthood. And with all luck, your father will have already addressed a potential engagement with him.”

Margarry threw herself into her mother’s arms, thanking her profusely. It was now only a matter of time.


End file.
